


survivors

by lorspolairepeluche



Series: Fearsome Foursome [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8647225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorspolairepeluche/pseuds/lorspolairepeluche
Summary: Four strangers wake up in a dungeon with no memory of what happened to render them unconscious and with suspicion of murdering the Divine cast on them.What the hell happened, and what the hell will happen?





	

“Adaar!”

Saraan looked up at the call, still on one knee and catching her breath. “We need to keep moving,” Shokrakar said shortly when she had her archer’s attention. “Come down if you don’t see anything else coming at us.”

Saraan stood to look out at the horizon. “Coast’s clear.” She jumped down from the outcropping, wincing as she landed on her sprained ankle from the previous week. “Ready when you are.”

“Let’s go,” Shokrakar ordered, turning and sheathing her sword.

“Poor bastards,” Taarlok muttered, nudging a dead bandit with his foot. “Don’t know what possessed them to come after a bunch of Tal-Vashoth armed to the teeth.”

“Desperation,” Katoh suggested. “Nobody’s doing well these days, what with mages and templars bitching and fighting. Sods probably attacked anyone they saw.”

“We’re gonna be leaving you three behind soon if you don’t catch up,” Shokrakar called. “They want us up there _today._ ”

“Yes’m!” Saraan called, leading the other two to catch up with the group. “Sure hope we get paid up front,” she murmured to Katoh and Taarlok. “Don’t want to deal with Shokrakar being pissed about not getting paid again.”

Katoh chuckled. “And if we do get paid up front, all the better for us. She might even let us get good ale for once.”

The three of them grinned around at each other as they caught up to the rest of the Valo-Kas.

—

—

Saraan bolted awake, breath heaving as she looked wildly around. Darkness. Walls. Alone. Wrists bound. All things associated with—

_Re-educators._

“Shit!” Saraan jumped to her feet, throwing herself against the back of her cell. “Shit, shit, shit, shit—”

“You?”

Saraan looked wildly around for the source of the voice. “Where are you?”

A short, exasperated sigh. “Down here, you tall bastard.”

Saraan looked slowly down at the corner of the cell next to her. A dwarf with a pug nose and hair as red as any cherry glared up at her. “Great. Fucking excellent. Thrown in here for who-knows-what, and the horn-head I bribed to let me into the conclave I didn’t even want to _be_ at is in the cell right next to mine.” The dwarf let out a scornful huff. “At least I _know_ you. A little, anyway.”

“Where the hell are we?”

She glanced back up at Saraan. “Haven. Village next to the Temple, or what’s left of it. Dungeon of the Chantry. That’s all I found out. Besides the fact that the four of us are suspected of murdering the Divine.”

“Four of us?” Saraan repeated.

“Four of us,” the dwarf answered. “The other two are across the way. Still asleep. The human’s got some…mark on her hand, apparently. Some apostate’s been in to see her a few times, along with someone they call the Seeker and this one Chantry sister. Leliana, I think that was her name. The elf’s a mage; that’s all I know about him. They think one or all of us made the conclave blow up and caused something they’re calling the Breach. The apostate thinks that the mark on the human’s hand might be able to control the Breach. At any rate, mark and Breach apparently react to each other.”

“How do you know all this?” Saraan asked, incredulous.

The dwarf shrugged. “I pretend to be asleep when they come. Sometimes leads to me really falling asleep—” she managed a weak smile, “—but I find out what I need to know.”

“Who _are_ you, anyway?” Saraan asked.

The dwarf snorted. “Panna Cadash. Heir to House Cadash’s part of the Carta. At your _humble_ service.”

“Carta?” Saraan echoed. “You’re a crime lord?”

“Fuck no,” Panna answered vehemently. “My family are. I’m too stupid to be a proper Carta leader. That’s what they always told me.”

“And they still sent you to spy on the Conclave?”

“‘One last chance,’” Panna muttered. “I hadn’t been planning on going back.” She looked up at Saraan, her belligerent expression softened to reveal eyes that, even in the dim light, were obviously blue. “What about you, Qunari? Who are you?”

“I’m not Qunari,” Saraan answered automatically.

“Right. And I’m the queen of Antiva.”

“Qunari isn’t a term for our race. It means someone who follows the Qun. I don’t, therefore I’m _not_ Qunari,” Saraan finished hotly.

“Alright, I get it.” Panna held up her bound hands in surrender. “So who are you then?”

“My name’s Adaar. Saraan Adaar. I’m Vashoth; I’ve never lived under the Qun. I’m a mercenary who doesn’t remember anything between a big explosion and waking up here. What else is there to tell?”

“Oh, plenty,” Panna said. “I’m bored as hell down here; you could at least tell me about some job you once took or something. Better yet, how the hell does a Quna—sorry, _Vashoth—_ mercenary end up working security for a Chantry conclave?”

Saraan’s answer was forestalled by a sudden flash of green light from outside her cell, accompanied by a crack like nearby thunder and groan of pain. Panna stiffened where she sat, glancing out at the hall before saying, low, quick, “The human’s mark is acting up again. The Seeker and the apostate will be here soon; they always come after the mark flares. Quick, pretend to be asleep.” She fell to lie on her side, her eyes closing.

—

—

“Will this keep your mouth shut?”

The Qunari raised an eyebrow at the bag of coins Panna shoved at her before shrugging and nodding. Panna let her snatch the pouch away before turning up her own hood and continuing on toward the center chamber.

The voices were getting louder—and not just with proximity. Templars, mages, debating, shouting—

“Enough!”

The voice was Orlesian and vaguely feeble, but when it sounded, every other voice in the room shut up very quickly. Panna turned the corner into the main hall—

And there she was: Divine Justinia V, in all her aged glory. Panna stopped and simply looked at her for several moments. The adornments on her vestments glittered in the light of many torches, and the red and white of her garment and headdress shimmered. For a moment, Panna truly believed that Divine wasn’t just a title.

And then an explosion rocked the room, and everything went straight to shit.

—

—

Cautious, Saraan went back to the dirty cot as the light outside died down. Sure enough, she had only been lying down for a scant moment before a door slammed open above her and several sets of footsteps clamored down a set of stone stairs. _That can’t be just two people._

“I can’t stay long,” said a man’s voice, one with a distinctively Fereldan accent. “It’s only a lull, and with the Breach spreading—”

“I know, Commander.” The woman rolled her r’s and elongated her o’s. Nevarran, perhaps? “But she and the other three are our only clues to what happened at the Conclave.”

Another voice groaned, met with a sudden silence from outside. And then a flurry of movement: two swords unsheathing, a door unlocking. The voice that had groaned shouted something in a different language as someone scrabbled along the ground, trying to find a grip and only finding cold stone.

“The mage is the first to wake,” the Nevarran said with a snarl barely concealed in her tone.

“What do you want from me?” The voice that had spoken in a foreign language, with the lilt of that same language in his voice. He was remarkably steady for someone who had apparently just woken to at least two weapons drawn on him.

“Hold, Seeker.” A new voice, with the same accent as the prisoner, slightly deeper. “Who are you?” he asked, almost gentle.

“And what happened at the Conclave?” A new voice, a woman with an Orlesian accent.

“Stay back!” A crackle of magic. _The prisoner must be the elf mage Panna mentioned._

“Don’t try it,” the Nevarran growled. “Well, Leliana, I think we may have found our culprit.”

“Oi!”

The four people in the corridor turned at Panna’s call. “You want the one who woke up first, that’d be me,” the dwarf said coldly. “Leave the elf alone and ask me your questions. I’ve got nothing to hide, and neither does he, I think.”

“You?” the Nevarran blurted. “You’ve been asleep all this—”

“I was faking,” Panna said flatly. “For the last two or three times you’ve been down here, Seeker.”

Saraan sat up, finally opening her eyes again. “I’m awake too. Looks like you were wrong twice over.”

“Seeker.” The lilting voice came from a pale elf with no hair and a staff on his back. _The apostate Panna mentioned?_ “I must see to the woman. The Breach spread not three minutes ago; the mark surely has as well.”

“Very well.” The Nevarran woman—blocky and scarred—sheathed her sword, shutting the door to the elf’s cell behind her. The Fereldan, a blond man in armor, warily followed suit, dogging the apostate’s steps to the furthest cell. The shorter woman—Leliana—unlocked it and stood aside to let the other three in.

“The mark has indeed spread once again,” the apostate called.

“Wait,” the Fereldan interrupted. “I know this woman. Why do I…” He trailed off, his breath drawing in in sudden comprehension. “Trevelyan.”

The elf across the hall from Saraan suddenly looked up at nothing, and Panna seemed a little more alert too as the Seeker repeated, “Trevelyan?”

“The Trevelyans are a noble family in Ostwick,” Leliana said, confused. “What would a Free Marcher noble be doing at the Conclave, unless… _oh._ ”

“What?” the Seeker demanded.

“The Savior of Ostwick,” the Fereldan said wonderingly. “Lady Halla Trevelyan. So she survived.”

The door to the dungeon swung open. “Commander!” someone shouted. “We need you and the Seeker! Demons are pouring out; we’re losing ground!”

The Fereldan and the Nevarran stormed back out of Trevelyan’s cell, back up the stairs and out of the dungeon. Leliana followed, a little slower, her eyes as she glanced around at each of the three prisoners saying, _I will be back._

The door slammed shut, and they were left with only the apostate and each other for company.

“You can relax,” the apostate called from Trevelyan’s cell. “I will not hurt any of you. Unlike the Seeker, I do not believe you are to blame for the Breach or the destruction of the Conclave. My name is Solas.”

“Is that woman’s name really Trevelyan?” Panna asked sharply.

“I do not know,” Solas answered, unperturbed. “Why do you ask?”

“The templar commander was shouting at someone named Trevelyan,” the elf recalled quietly. “It’s one of the last things I remember. The person who answered was a man, though. He was refusing to join the templars as they lined up to battle the mages. He was arguing…said something about someone else panicking.” He laughed mirthlessly. “He was the only one who made sense in the chaos. He was the only one who saw that every effort was going to be ruined if a battle broke out.” He put a hand in front of his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. “Creators…I was only there to _spy_ …”

—

—

Aiyan pressed himself against the wall as templars and mages flurried past him, lining up—battle lines.

“Trevelyan!” the Knight-Commander shouted. “I said, form up!”

“No!” the lone templar shouted back, spreading his arms as if to protect the woman behind him from the Knight-Commander’s wrath. “Can’t you see she’s panicking? Can’t you see what this is doing? You’ll destroy everything we came here for! Please, Commander, we came here for _peace!_ ”

“Peace was lost to us when _they—_ ” the Knight-Commander pointed an accusing finger at the mages grouping on the other side of the hall, “—set off that explosion!”

“It wasn’t us!” the mages’ leader roared back. “You blame us for everything that goes wrong!”

The woman behind the rogue templar looked around, green eyes wild, and, for some reason, her gaze landed on Aiyan. Her mouth moved: _Please._

Aiyan shook his head. _What can I do?_

She returned to the templar protecting her, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Luke—”

He turned, embracing her, whispering something into her ear, and Aiyan was reminded forcefully of the way the Keeper had hugged him before he left. _Dareth shiral, da’len._

And then the second explosion, and everything went black.

—

—

“Oh, bloody hell, not you too!”

The Qunari’s voice brought Aiyan back to the present, and he looked back at her, bewildered. “What?”

“You were the other one who paid me to look the other way!” she blurted. “Oh, fuck, _seriously?_ ” she groaned, tipping her head back. “Of all the people to survive with, it was you two and a human noble!”

“She is not just any noble.” Solas sounded entirely amused by the whole thing. “Have you never heard of the Savior of Ostwick?”

“Obviously not,” Saraan answered. “I haven’t been to the Free Marches in years; how should I know—and why should I care—what titles they give each other?”

“She defended her city from abominations and demons on the day the Ostwick Circle of Magi fell,” Solas explained, his voice softer. “She was only twenty-one, yet she fought like any seasoned warrior until the Knight-Commander of the city broke through to reach her. They named her their Savior as she recovered from her wounds. From what I gather, she was at the Conclave to plead for peace.” His tone became introspective, even softer than before, and Saraan could picture him smoothing Trevelyan’s hair away from her face. “A pity, then, that she never got the chance.”

“What about the templar? The other Trevelyan?” Panna asked. “Where’s he?”

Solas’s silence was all the answer they needed.

—

—

“I beg of you: cease your fighting, if only to save this Thedas which we all cherish.” Halla looked directly into her audience’s eyes for a second—

“Ugh.” She fell to sit on the grass as Luke smiled. “Good enough?”

“Good enough,” her brother answered, still toying with the blade of grass in his hands. His fingers were exceedingly gentle when not armored. “But that was only in front of me. At the Conclave—”

“Don’t remind me!” his little sister snapped, putting her hands over her ears to shut out his voice. “I’ll just lose my nerve before we even get there!”

“You know,” Luke chuckled, leaning forward to ruffle her hair, “for someone renowned for fighting off hundreds of abominations and shades, you can be remarkably childish.”

“Well, excuse me for being afraid of looking like a fool in front of all those people!” she retorted. But she let him kiss her forehead, smiled quietly as he did so. “You know that when I fought, you were the only one there.”

“And I will be forever grateful for you, little sister,” Luke murmured, keeping his hand on her head. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for saving me that day.”

“I nearly didn’t,” Halla whispered.

“But you _did,_ ” Luke said firmly. “And it’s four years past. Now, we need you again, Halla. You fought a war four years ago; now we need you to ask for peace.”

“That sounded rehearsed,” Halla chuckled, even as her eyes closed to enjoy Luke’s touch.

He laughed. “It was.”

Halla laughed too, and soon both of them were giggling helplessly at each other, just like when they were children.

—

—

Halla came to slowly, aware of a dull pain in her left hand that grew sharper as she grew more alert. A crack—

Halla cried out, trying to shield her eyes from the burst of green light, but the shackles around her wrists only brought the light closer.

A door crashed open, and she looked up to see two women entering: one tall and strapping, striding in with a purpose, the other smaller, stealthier, hooded. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” the tall one said, venom dripping from her voice, even as it shook. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead, except for you.”

“What do you mean, everyone’s dead?” Halla demanded, ashamed of the way her own voice trembled. Even as she asked, her stomach dropped out of her.

_Luke._

The woman grabbed Halla’s wrist as the green light flared again, coming from a strange, scar-like mark on her hand. “Explain _this,_ ” the woman snarled before throwing Halla’s wrist back down as if disgusted that she had touched it.

“I—I can’t,” Halla stammered, feeling the panic rising in her. _Shit, not now, not fucking now!_

“What do you mean, you _can’t?_ ” the woman demanded, hand going to the sword at her hip.

“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there!” Halla pleaded.

“You’re lying!” The woman lunged, but the shorter one got there to hold her back.

“We need her, Cassandra,” she reminded her companion.

“I can’t believe it…” Halla whispered. “All those people…dead?” _Luke._

“Do you remember what happened?” the hooded woman asked. “How this began?”

“I remember…running.” Halla found the words tumbling off her tongue as memories she didn’t know she had floated to the forefront of her mind. “Things were chasing me, and then…a woman?”

“A woman?” The hooded one folded her arms, but her voice was interested.

“She…reached out to me. But then…”

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” the one called Cassandra told the other. “I will take her to the rift.”

As Leliana left, Cassandra crouched in front of Halla, unlocking the shackles and quickly binding her wrists with rope instead. “I remember…I wasn’t the only one,” Halla recalled. “There were…I think…three others?”

“That would probably be us, then.”

Halla twisted to see the cells behind her, each housing one person. The big Qunari woman was the one who had spoken. “Hey,” she said. “You must be Halla. They were talking about you while you were still asleep.”

“What happened?” Halla asked, finding that her memory produced no real answer to that question.

“It will be easier to show you,” Cassandra answered, signaling to the guards to open the three cells. Their residents stepped out into the dungeon: an elf with a tattooed face, a dwarf who looked like she could bench-press the elf easily, the Qunari who had greeted Halla. “Come with me,” Cassandra instructed the four of them. “You need to see this.”

\--

Halla shielded her eyes with a cry of pain as the four of them were let out into the sunlight. Her eyes had become used to the dark of the dungeon. The Qunari moved, shading the rest of them, as the dwarf realized aloud, “That light’s not the sun.”

“No,” Cassandra said heavily. “It is not.”

Halla forced herself to look up. The light was coming from a strange green _something_ in the sky. Her stomach dropped as she realized that the sky had been torn open.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” She turned back to the four prisoners. “It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?” Halla asked.

“This one did,” Cassandra answered forebodingly. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

She was interrupted by a crack of something like lightning, and pain shot through Halla’s hand again as the mark flared to life. She screamed, dropping to her knees before she pulled her voice back in check and clenched the glowing hand into a fist, riding out the pain as Cassandra crouched in front of her and the other three gathered around her.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads,” Cassandra explained. “And…it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this. But there isn’t much time.”

“The key to what?” Halla asked, struggling to keep her panic from rising.

“Closing the Breach,” Cassandra answered simply. “Whether that’s possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however. And yours.”

“You still think she did this to herself?” the dwarf asked angrily. “You think we did this to her?”

“Not intentionally,” Cassandra allowed. “Something clearly went wrong.”

“And if we’re not responsible?” the dwarf snarled.

“Someone is,” the Qunari said quietly.

“And you four are our only suspects,” Cassandra admitted. “You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”

Halla glanced around at the three others before looking back to Cassandra. “I understand,” she said.

“Then…”

“I’ll do what I can,” Halla assured her. “Whatever it takes.”

“And the rest of you?” Cassandra asked, looking sharply up to the other three.

“We’re with you,” the Qunari answered.

Cassandra pulled Halla up and tugged her along by the arm, leading the four of them through the village. Suspicious glances came from every direction; whispers floated around them. “They have decided your guilt,” Cassandra informed her prisoners. “They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry.” Words were tumbling from her as she led the four of them out the gates of the village. “The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together, and now they are dead.” She took a deep breath to calm her voice. “We lash out like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did, until the Breach is sealed.”

Cassandra stopped as they approached a stone bridge across a ravine. Drawing a knife, she turned to the prisoners, cutting the rope around their wrists. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more,” she confessed. “Come. It is not far.”

“Where are you taking us?” the Qunari demanded.

“That mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach,” Cassandra told them.

With glances around at each other, the four of them started off together for the first time.

—

—

The Knight-Commander’s words echoed in Halla’s head, heightening her alarm with every repetition. _Peace was lost to us. Peace was lost to us._ She forced herself to remember that the one person who could quell her panic was right there with her. “Luke!” Halla put her hand on her brother’s shoulder.

He turned around, and his green eyes were as terrified as she felt. He embraced her suddenly, tight and trying his hardest to be reassuring. “Whatever happens, Halla—I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t forget that, now. Don’t you _ever—_ ”

A flash of light and sound, and then everything was dark.

—

—

Halla woke when the door opened, admitting an elven servant who could only be described as _small._ The servant dropped the box they carried with a gasp when Halla sat up. “I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Halla assured them. “I only—”

She stopped talking when the elf fell to their knees and _bowed,_ putting their forehead almost to the floor. “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant. You are back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us! The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand! It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!”

“Then the danger is over,” Halla realized.

“The Breach is still in the sky, but that’s what they say.” The elf got to their feet, still bowing. “I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘at once.’”

“And where is she?” Halla asked, pushing herself to her feet.

“In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor,” the elf stammered. “‘At once,’ she said!” They turned and hurried out the door, leaving it open behind them in their haste.

Where they had left, three others entered, the Qunari looking back out the door after the servant. “Herald of Andraste,” she said, appraising. She looked back to Halla. “Yeah. That’s what they’re calling you now, apparently. They think their Maker sent you to save the world from the hellhole it’s become.” She barked a laugh. “Yeah, divine intervention is so likely after all the shit that people have done late—”

“Is…Do they really think that?”

The Qunari cut off, looking back to the human, who was clutching her left wrist and looking down as the hand clenched into a fist around the mark. “I dunno,” the Qunari admitted. “It’s what they’re saying out there.”

“Three days is long enough to whip people into a frenzy.” It was the first time the human had heard the elf’s voice. It was a soft voice; it sounded like it had the capability for great tenderness. “I’m Aiyan, from Clan Lavellan.” He smiled at her, the kindest expression anyone had given her since the Conclave. “How do you feel?”

She laughed without any happiness behind it, dropping her hands. “Like shit? Is that an option?”

“Course it is,” the dwarf answered. “Anyone would, in your place, I think.” She stepped forward and held out her hand. “Panna Cadash. Apparently, the four of us survived the Fade and Breach bullshit together.”

The human put her hand in Panna’s. The dwarf had a strong grip for such a small hand. “It’s Halla, right? We heard your name in that damned dungeon while we were all locked up. The Commander recognized you. Said you were the Savior of Ostwick or something.”

Halla let out a breath. “You have quite the advantage over me, apparently. Who’s this Commander?”

“He’s called Cullen,” the Qunari answered. “Former templar. Dunno what exactly he commands. It’s all pretty hush-hush, apparently.”

“Cullen?” Halla repeated. “Is he…from Kirkwall?”

“He might be.” The dwarf shrugged. “I think I heard him mention Kirkwall once. I guess it sounded like he lived there at some point?”

Halla laughed again, putting her face in a hand. “Cullen. Knight-Captain Cullen fucking Rutherford.”

“You know him?” Aiyan asked.

“Not really, no. We met once. In our official capacities as acting Knight-Commander of Kirkwall and whatever the fuck Savior of Ostwick means.” Halla put her hands on her hips. “How small is the damn world?”

“Too small for someone seven feet tall,” the Qunari answered, seating herself backward in a chair. “I’m Adaar. Saraan Adaar. Nice to meet you, Savior of Ostwick.”

“Oh, shut up,” Halla sighed. “I hate that title; it’s bullshit. I didn’t save the fucking city on purpose; I saved my _brother—_ ” She stopped as the realization that had been at the back of her mind since waking slammed to the forefront. “My brother.”

“What’s wrong?” Aiyan asked, his ears perking in concern.

But Halla is out the door before he can say anything else. The other three look around at each other before bolting after her, leaving Saraan’s tipped chair as the only sign they were there.

—

“Halla!”

Saraan, with her long Qunari strides, was first to her, catching her arm and holding her back. “What is _wrong?_ ”

Halla was incoherent, tears already running down her face. “My brother, where’s my brother?” she repeats, clutching at Saraan. “Please, tell me—!”

_What about the templar? The other Trevelyan? Where’s he?_

Aiyan put his hand gently on Halla’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. We were the only four survivors.”

“No. No, I didn’t save him for this!” Halla was hyperventilating as Saraan drew her into a tight hug. “I _saved_ him! He can’t die; I _saved_ him!”

“Hey. Hey. Halla. _Hey!_ ” Saraan turned Halla’s face up. “Look at me. _Look_ at me, Halla. Listen to me. You need to calm down, okay? It’s gonna be okay. You’re fine.”

“No! No, it’s not okay!” Halla yanked herself from Saraan’s hold, her lungs starting to freeze with the cold of panic. “I’m—I’m—I can’t breathe. I can’t—”

A hand on her shoulder was the only spot of warmth on her body until it started to radiate outward, and a second later, Halla sucked in an involuntary deep breath.

“That’s it,” Aiyan said softly. “Just breathe, all right?”

She looked at him in wonderment. “What did you…what did you do?”

“Nudged part of your mind, told it to calm down,” Aiyan answered. “That’s the simple explanation. The long explanation is I removed the perception of a threat. You’re all right.” His hand moved to her back, rubbing a bit as he smiled reassuringly at her. “You were just panicking.”

More tears spilled out as Halla made an effort to smile. “Yeah…but…”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly.

“What kind of exchange is this?” Halla managed through her tears. “I don’t want this mark; I don’t want any fucking titles—I want my brother!”

“Not an option,” Saraan said quietly, putting a hand on Halla’s shoulder again. Her tone had some of the gentleness her words lacked. “Sorry.”

“We should get to the Chantry,” Panna said after a moment. “Find Cassandra, ask what she wants us to do now you’ve woken up.”

Halla straightened, forcing herself to stop crying as she nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.”

Tentatively, they all stepped forward together.

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY say hi to the fearsome foursome! they are my official Canon Inquisitors, and yes they all become Inquisitors, though Halla is the only one to be named Herald. She's the only one with the mark. It's...weird, I guess, but it makes sense to me and it makes sense after a while.


End file.
